


His Own Little Trademark

by magsforya



Series: The Cancer Stories [1]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Conditions, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magsforya/pseuds/magsforya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has known Darren for four months. Four glorious months. And while he and Darren aren't super close, they're close enough for Chris to realize that over the past few months Darren's changed. He's not quite sure why, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Own Little Trademark

**Author's Note:**

> I don't particularly want to give away anything, but this story does contain a medical situation. If you're nervous or would like to know what it is before reading, please send me an [ask](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/ask). 
> 
> Rebloggable on [Tumblr](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/post/119617146774/his-own-little-trademark).

                Darren always wears long sleeves. He prefers sweaters, and if he gets warm he’ll roll up the right sleeve. Only the right sleeve.

                Chris hasn’t known him very long, just a few months. So really, it’s not strange that Darren only ever wears long sleeved t-shirts. After all, it’s winter and even in LA it’s still a bit chilly. As a native Californian, Chris can’t stand the cold. He’s always covered up, too.

                If Darren isn’t wearing long sleeves it’s because he’s wearing a sweatshirt or a light jacket. As the months go on Chris finds himself liking this laid back look on Darren. By the time March rolls around he’s known Darren for four months. Four _glorious_ months in which they’ve gone from casual acquaintances who only know each other through mutual friends, to sociable cohorts who enjoy catching up whenever they see each other, to honest to god _friends_. Not good friends, but friends nonetheless. And Chris would be lying if he said he didn’t have a tiny crush on Darren.

                Truly only tiny. He doesn’t know Darren well enough for this crush to settle in and blossom into something larger, to take root and grow and bloom.

                He hangs out with Darren a lot, though never alone. What started as only one mutual friend has now grown and expanded into several, and now their closest friends’ groups intermingle effortlessly. They will all go out to lunch or grab happy hour together. They will convene late at night for boisterous dancing and energetic singing. Darren will bring his guitar and sing songs well into the night—sometimes even into the morning.

                The problem is that every time Chris feels like he and Darren are getting closer and are about to maybe bridge the gap to becoming friends-who-hang-out-alone, something… _happens_.

                Or rather, _nothing_ happens.

                Darren frequently disappears for days—sometimes weeks—at a time. No one will ever say anything about it. Chris will show up to a scheduled lunch and see everyone there _but_ Darren. He used to ask where Darren was, but everyone would always answer that he was busy or got caught up or was out of town. That he wasn’t around or wasn’t feeling well. Really general excuses that are totally believable, but disheartening nonetheless.

                And then Darren would come back and he and Chris would sit and talk for hours, and it was like no time had ever passed. After a while Chris got used to this, and he learned to stop questioning Darren’s absences. They were no longer strange or unusual or unexpected. But if he was ever feeling particularly put out by Darren’s absences, Chris would go onto Darren’s Facebook and see if he was posting anything. Darren never would be during those absences, so instead Chris would get caught up in looking at Darren’s pictures, grinning affectionately at the myriad of pictures where Darren has his right sleeve rolled up and his left sleeve pushed down.

                It’s like his own little trademark.

* * *

 

                Darren is a pretty steady person—not much changes about him. He has the same smile, the same friendliness, the same warm openness and fondness for dirty jokes. He can put anyone at ease, and he always know what to say to make you smile.

                But as the weeks go on some things do change. Darren gets thinner. Not outrageously so, but it’s noticeable. His hair, which was larger than life and full of bounce when they first met now lies stringy and thin against his scalp. Darren’s honey hazel eyes shine bright, and Chris always get caught in them; but they’ve lost their youthful luster.

                It comes gradually. So gradually that Chris never realizes that it’s happening. Not until he looks back on pictures of Darren when they first met. One night he’s feeling particularly sentimental and decides to wade back through months of pictures on his own Facebook page, just wanting to take a walk down memory lane.

                He comes across a few pictures of him and Darren, and the difference is astounding. Full and rosy cheeks four months later are now concave, muscular arms (well, muscular _right_ arm, since it’s all Chris sees) is thinner.

                Chris spends one whole night ruminating about this, but it never amounts to anything. People change. _Chris_ has changed in the last four months.

                When he wakes up the next day he doesn’t even think about it.

* * *

 

                As spring settles in with a bang and the weather gets warmer, Darren starts wearing short sleeve shirts.

                It’s weird at first for Chris, who has honestly never seen Darren don anything that shows off so much skin. However, it’s a welcome surprise.

                Darren always wears a brace around his left elbow. Sometimes it’s black, other times it’s pink or purple or patterned. He has one with Ninja Turtles on it, another with sparkly green glitter. Chris swears he once saw Darren wearing one with a Care Bear on it.

                Chris doesn’t think much of it. It looks like one of those Ace Bandage braces that you can buy at any pharmacy for ten bucks. The ones that people wear for extra support when they’re exercising. And really, why would Chris stare at Darren’s elbow when he could be looking at Darren’s face?

                It becomes another normal quirk of Darren’s; only ever rolling up his right sleeve, disappearing for days on end without explanation, wearing colorful elbow braces, completely stopping his intake of alcohol.

                Chris never thinks about it anymore. Darren’s a weird guy. An _awesome_ guy, but silly and strange and unique at the same time. He marches to the beat of his own drum, Chris has figured out. It’s why when Darren shows up to a party in late March with his curly hair cut and shaved into a buzz, Chris doesn’t question it.

                Okay, he actually does.

                “What did you do?!” he squeaks, his inhibition lowered after a few cocktails.

                Darren rubs his hand over his new ‘do.

                “You like?” he asks shyly. And it’s strange, because Darren really isn’t one for shyness. It doesn’t suit him.

                Chris takes a moment to appraise the new look. It’s not bad. The more he looks at it the more he actually think he might like it. It’s unexpected, but Chris sort of expects the unexpected from Darren now. His youthful energy and ability to throw caution to the wind and try new things is probably Chris’ favorite character trait of Darren’s.

                So yeah, he likes the new look.

                “It suits you,” Chris decides on, leaning forward and running his hand over the new hair. “That feels weird,” he snorts.

                He really needs to learn how to control his limbs when he’s drunk. But Darren doesn’t seem to mind. He just smiles and leans into the touch.

                “Good,” Darren says. “I’m glad.”

                Darren spends the rest of the night quietly playing guitar while Chris sits next to him and listens.

* * *

 

                Darren doesn’t swim very often. Not completely. He’ll wear a bathing suit—still keeping his elbow brace on—and he’ll go tummy deep in the water, resting his arms on the side. He won’t float, he won’t go under, he won’t swim laps. But he’ll stand in the shallow end while Chris sits on the ledge with his feet in the water and they’ll talk. Chris definitely notices Darren’s lack of muscle definition, but he doesn’t really process it. Darren still looks good. His ribs aren’t poking out. He’s just _thin_.

                They’re close—very close now. It’s been six months since they’ve met, and they’ve just recently moved onto the stage of friendship where they hang out alone, just the two of them, _without anyone else_.

                It’s really great, actually, being able to just hang out with Darren. Chris thought that he knew Darren before, but he was clearly mistaken. There is so much more to Darren than what Chris had previously known. In a mere matter of weeks Darren goes from a slight enigma to a fully realized person. The only downside to this is that Chris’ crush has deepened, but he does a fine job of keeping it buried.

                Whenever they hang out they always talk, conversation flowing easily and endlessly. Sometimes they don’t talk, but they’ll still sit close together, fingers occasional brushing.

                Darren is notorious for his physical gestures, for grabbing someone’s shoulder or patting their back, for giving a hug as a parting or a greeting. So Chris doesn’t read much into it when Darren lets his hand linger longer on Chris’ thigh, or when he stares up through his lashes at Chris and smiles widely.

* * *

 

                Chris’ crush on Darren doesn’t go away. It’s not unmanageable—not in the least. It’s always there beneath the surface, though Chris does do a great job at keeping it hidden from those he wishes to hide it from. Mainly Darren and his friends, but also a few of his own. This isn’t something he wants making its way through the rumor mill.

                He hasn’t seen Darren for three weeks. It’s one of those times where Darren mysteriously disappears, except he’s never disappeared for this long. A few days, a week and a half _tops_. But it’s been almost a month, and Darren isn’t even really answering his texts or Facebook messages. Chris doesn’t want to be nervous or scared, but this is strange and no one will tell him where Darren is. He’s afraid of reaching out _too_ much or _too_ often, because he doesn’t want to be one of those annoying people who incessantly message people, like a child screaming in the middle of a room until someone pays attention. But still, every time a message of his goes unanswered, Chris’ feelings get a little hurt. Pride’s a crazy thing.

                When Darren does come back, though, he looks like shit.

                He has a few bruises, he’s painfully thin, he is wearing a winter hat in the middle of May and he hardly ever smiles. Though he still hangs out with his friends, he’s hardly an active participant in anything. He sits on the couch with his eyes closed, listening to what’s going on around him.

                He doesn’t play his guitar. He doesn’t sing. He says he has a sore in his mouth and it hurts to talk, so he just _hmms_ and _mmms_ in conversations, nodding his head occasionally or offering up a somber smile.

                He goes back to wearing sweaters with his right sleeve pushed up.

                Chris is completely taken aback, especially when this listless Darren is still there the next time Chris sees him. And the next.

                Darren doesn’t hang out with the gang outside of his own apartment very frequently anymore. And when they do all hang at his apartment, it’s never the big crowds, just a small spattering of people who only stay for an hour or two, tops. It surprises Chris that he’s always invite, but he doesn’t want to question it.

                Chris has questions, but he doesn’t know how to ask them. He wants answers, but he doesn’t know how to search for them.

                He asks if Darren wants to hang out on Saturday, and Darren agrees, telling Chris to just come over whenever he wants to. Chris shows up a little before noon carrying a box of pizza. Since Darren never leaves the apartment anymore, Chris wanted to bring something to him. He felt weird showing up empty handed. When he knocks on the door Darren answers it and ushers Chris inside.

                It’s almost ninety degrees outside but Darren is wearing a light long sleeve t-shirt and sweatpants. Chris doesn’t register until he puts the pizza down in the living room that both of Darren’s sleeves are rolled up. It doesn’t hit him until he sits down on the couch right next to Darren that something is not right with this picture. There’s something on Darren that doesn’t belong there.

                Darren’s left arm has… _stuff_ coming out of it. Tubes, three of them each a different color. Red, blue, and clear, taped down to his inner forearm and angrily jutting out of his skin right below his elbow.

                Chris swallows. Loudly.

                He can’t stop staring. His mouth has fallen open. His eyes are as wide as saucers as he gawks.

                “Chris?” Darren says hesitantly, placing his left hand on Chris’ arm. Chris follows the movement, watching at the tubes move with his arm.

                Chris wants to respond but he can’t make his vocal chords work. His throat is suddenly thick with mucous and unable to manipulate words. He wants to look up at Darren’s eyes, but he can’t stop looking at the tubes that shouldn’t be coming out of Darren’s skin but are anyway.

                “What—what are they?” Chris asks hoarsely, and his voice doesn’t seem like it belongs to him.

                “It’s a PICC line,” Darren says, turning his arm so Chris can get a better view of the tubes.

                “I don’t—I don’t…” _understand_ , Chris wants to say, but he’s still having trouble forming words. He wants to take a step back, but he’s sitting down and he can’t make his legs work anyway. He’s trying to fit the puzzle pieces together, but suddenly he feels like he’s holding eighteen different pieces from eighteen different puzzles, and he can’t jam them all together to make sense.

                “It’s where my medicine goes,” Darren replies softly, and Chris finally is able to tear his eyes away from Darren’s arm in order to look at Darren’s face.

                “W—why?”

                “It’s where my medicine goes,” Darren repeats plainly.

                “What medicine?” Chris asks.

                Darren narrows his eyes in confusion, spending a solid minute quietly taking Chris in. Chris feels like he’s on display, and he wants to look away but he can’t stop looking at Darren. He can’t break the eye contact. Darren is looking at him nervously, but also apprehensively.

                “You really don’t know?” he asks Chris, disbelieving.

                “Know what?” Chris asks dumbly.

                “I have cancer,” Darren says.

                A loud whooshing noise follows, and Chris suddenly feels like he’s sinking. He holds his breath for fear of drowning, and his eyesight goes blurry for a second, but he doesn’t even realize it because he completely zones out instead, until he can’t hold his breath anymore and he has to come up for air, gasping when he finally reaches the surface.

                “Chris? Chris!” Darren barks, causing Chris to refocus his attention on Darren.

                “What?” Chris asks, because he feels like he may have conked out for a bit and misheard something.

                “I have…cancer,” Darren says again, slower this time. “You really didn’t know?”

                Chris shakes his head unintelligently. He’s never been at such a complete loss for words. He’s never felt like the English language has been torn out from under him.

                “Oh,” Darren says, surprised. He reaches out and grabs Chris’ hand, squeezing it tightly and not saying anything. Chris isn’t sure if it’s for Darren’s benefit or his own, but he appreciates the moments of quiet anyway.

                They don’t eat the pizza. They don’t move from the couch. They don’t even talk for the longest time. Chris spends half an hour silently looking back on the past seven months of his and Darren’s friendship and evaluating all of the signs that were there.

                Darren always covering up his left arm, either with sleeves or colorful braces. His frequent disappearances, his weight loss. His _hair_.

                Chris feels like the biggest of fools, like he just started a race that everyone else has already finished. He feels like this is something that he should have known even though no one ever told him. He feels like the biggest idiot, like he spent the last half a year thinking only of himself when he could have been comforting Darren and being there for him.

                He spends half an hour reliving the past half a year and thinking of all the things he should say to Darren, but of course the first thing that he spits out is totally not what he was wanting to say—at all.

                “I have a crush on you,” he whispers almost somberly, his throat dry from lack of use.

                “I have a crush on you, too,” Darren says. Chris looks over, and he wants more than anything to see Darren smiling. He wants more than anything for this to be a declaration of happiness.

                Darren’s crying, small tears falling silently down his sunken cheeks.

                They don’t kiss or hug, but Darren holds Chris’ hand for the next hour as they sit on different couch cushions and separately think about the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable on [Tumblr](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/post/119617146774/his-own-little-trademark).
> 
> Comments mean the world to me!


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